


Courting

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: The universe, in its infinite wisdom, decided that people deserved to have a soulmate. Inexplicably, it decided that soulmates should share their pain.Fareeha Amari is a basketball player with a bad knee, and all she knows is this: her soulmate went through trauma sixteen years ago; her soulmate probably works too hard and too late; her soulmate currently really wants her to stop pacing around this hospital room and give them both a break.(Chapter 1 is the complete story from Fareeha's POV, the second chapter will be from Angela's POV.)





	Courting

Her soulmate is annoyed with her.

Fareeha ducks her head to hide her smile at the familiar pain digging into her right side, in the middle of her ribs, in response to the even more familiar ache radiating through her knee with each step.

The latter is from an old injury. The first is her soulmate, trying to tell her to stop.

She’s never understood (no one’s ever really understood) why the universe decided that soulmates should be able to feel each other’s pain. The most common theories people have are that the shared pain allows you to understand the worst things that have happened to your soulmate even before you meet them; that you’re more able to offer support to your soulmate without them having to reach out; that arguments are less heated when you feel exactly how your words affect them.

All Fareeha knows is that when she was sixteen she felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest, like all the air was being crushed from her lungs, that she had collapsed where she stood so suddenly her friends had already dialed the closest hospital before Fareeha could explain that she was feeling something from her soulmate.

It was only the lingering pain coming through that convinced Fareeha she hadn’t just felt her soulmate die, and that was the moment that put her off joining the military like she’d been contemplating. She couldn’t possibly inflict a pain like that on her soulmate.

She went to college and studied engineering and, mostly on a whim and the need for some physical outlet after long nights in the engineering lounge, joined the basketball team.

She worked hard at it, because Fareeha Amari tends not to do anything by halves, and it turned out that she was really, _really_ good.

They started winning. She became the captain, the leader, the star. The coaches told her that scouts were starting to watch the games, starting to ask questions. And she worked even harder.

She ignored all the bruises, the little tweaks of her knees and ankles as she pushed her body to the limit. She ignored the pain that she could feel from her soulmate, including the time during a game that she felt something slash across her palm, making her lose control of the ball.

(Well, she was a little mad about that one, but mostly because she allowed it to break her concentration.)

But what Fareeha couldn’t ignore was the first time that pain felt deliberate. It came the night after a game when she was fouled hard in the air and landed even harder on her elbow, sending pain ricocheting through her arm before numbness spread in its wake, reaching even into her hand. She was pulled from the game and watched from the sideline as the trainers looked her over, gently flexing her elbow and testing her range of motion. Nothing broken, they told her, and she sighed in relief.

It was later, in the locker room after the game, when she felt a small pinch right above her elbow. Sharp but short, gone almost as quickly as she noticed it. By now she could recognize what pain was hers and what was reflected from her soulmate, and when it happened again she pinched her arm in the same spot when the pain faded.

It didn’t happen again that night, and Fareeha wondered if that was her soulmate’s way of asking if she was all right.

She ended up going pro after graduation, and the little check ins became more frequent with the additional stress that she was putting on her body. A quick pinch as she limped off the court after a game, a gentle pressure on a joint as she lowered herself into an ice bath.

(After one particularly hard jab on a pressure point, Fareeha started putting her foot in first and leaving it for a moment to warn her soulmate. She preferred just getting the shock over with all at once, but her soulmate doesn’t seem to agree.)

Her soulmate also _hated_ the tattoo process, though at least they’d had enough sense to protest after the appointment was over, with the lines already curving under Fareeha’s eye. Enduring the complaints and the needle would’ve been a little much even for Fareeha.

Of course, the bond didn’t just go the one way. It’s only that her soulmate didn’t seem to be hurt too often, barring a stiff neck or back or a tongue scalded by coffee or rarer sharp pains in her hands or fingers. Nothing that ever seemed concerning or dangerous. Not physically, at least. Because there were days - few and far between, thankfully - that a fist closed around her heart and her chest ached with every breath. It took her a moment always to reorient herself, to remember that this pain was only a reflection, that she could breathe easily.

And that first time she found that same spot near her elbow and pinched it. A check-in, yes. A reminder that she was there, that her soulmate was not alone in this, that _someone_ knew just how much it hurt.

She was a little surprised when the response was four sharp lines scratched down the arm in return, her soulmate’s fingernails digging into their skin. And Fareeha dug her thumbnail into the crook of her elbow in time with her breathing. In and out, slow and steady, setting the pace until she got an answering pinch.

Fareeha wished they could communicate in some way more pleasant than pain, but at least they found a way to understand each other.

Until Fareeha woke one day with no pain at all, and she showered slowly, waiting for the burn to splash across her tongue so she could run her teeth over it in return (reminding her soulmate that she suffered too!), but when she stepped out of the shower she was still waiting. She glanced briefly at the clock, but her soulmate was never so late to coffee, and Fareeha frowned at her reflection.

(That her soulmate possibly _waited_ for the coffee to cool before drinking didn’t occur to her until much later.)

Fareeha bit her tongue instead, just a gentle closing of her teeth, a new kind of check in.

She felt nothing at all in return, and tried not to panic. Though her soulmate rarely hurt in unexpected ways or at inconvenient times, she’d grown so used to the slight ache that seemed to live behind her eyes, the phantom twinges in her neck.

She’d grown so used to the constant reminders of her soulmate’s existence that the silence felt like an entirely new and terrifying ache.

At practice, she was distracted enough by the complete absence of feeling that when Aleksandra passed her the ball without looking her way, it went right through her hands and hit her in the stomach, exploding the air out of her. Fareeha bent over to catch her breath, hands resting above her knees, waiting for the check in.

It didn’t come.

She excused herself from the rest of practice, waving off the concern of her teammates. She returned to her apartment and took another shower, this one bordering on the edge of too hot. It didn’t distract her the way she wanted, but it was close enough to the reflected feelings of her soulmate that it eased her tension anyway.

That night she tossed and turned and finally ended up falling asleep on the couch as the television droned in the background.

When she woke up the next morning, the stiffness in her neck and shoulders was entirely her own. But there’s immediately a scratching around her elbow that felt frantic, that felt desperate, and only subsided when she pressed her fingernails into the same spot.

As the day went by, the exchange repeated several times. Fareeha ignored her teammates’ teasing about her distraction. Because it felt like an apology, and though she had no idea what her soulmate could have done, just their presence is a relief.

And then Fareeha tore her ACL. A whole season lost to surgery and rehab, and as she gritted her teeth through her physical therapy, she grew used to a whole new set of “talking” from her soulmate.

Their check ins continued, of course, the small pinches and sharp fingernails around the elbow. When she was pushing herself hard, she’d feel scratching along her kneecap, telling her to slow down or take a break.

A sharp jab in the side was her soulmate wanting her to stop right then as best she can; Fareeha imagined her soulmate in the middle of something that shouldn’t be interrupted (or just very impatient with her at times). Fareeha entertained herself while icing one afternoon by trying to figure out just why her soulmate chose that spot in particular and was delighted when she’d realized that’s where her fingers fell when she crossed her arms high on her chest. A bit more unnoticeable when out in public (and add one tally to the impatient column as well).

There was one that took her a while to figure out: a gentle pressure right above her knee that grew in intensity before stopping abruptly, that first came when Fareeha was sitting down and feeling fine. When she checked in, she got the usual “everything’s okay” response and then the sensation above her knee repeated.

When she got up (and her knee protested), she immediately felt that jab in her side and sat back down, laughing as she tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Would be nice to know anything about you before you started bossing me around,” she said softly, guessing that her soulmate didn’t want her moving about right then.

Because all that Fareeha knows is this: her soulmate went through trauma sixteen years ago; her soulmate probably works too hard and too late; her soulmate currently really wants her to stop pacing around this hospital room and give them both a break.

“Sit down,” Aleksandra tells her, apparently also fed up with watching her limp around. “All that walking does nothing to speed the doctor.”

Fareeha turns to look at her teammate, who makes the bed she’s sitting on look so small. “It makes me feel better.”

“It makes me feel dizzy,” Aleksandra retorts, and Fareeha relents with a sigh and throws herself into a nearby chair, and the pain in her side subsides. She rubs a hand over the spot, and glances over when Aleksandra laughs. “Soulmate again?”

“Yeah,” she admits, knowing that Aleksandra likes to tease her about their “talks”, shaking her head fondly as Aleksandra laughs.

“Then everyone is in agreement!”

Before Fareeha can reply, a woman in a lab coat enters the room, a small tablet in her hand. “Miss Zaryanova?”

They both straighten - when Aleksandra winks at her, Fareeha wishes she could jab at her like her soulmate does, because while the doctor is beautiful it’s not why she’s on alert - and Aleksandra nods.

Noticing the new tension, the woman smiles. “I’m Dr. Ziegler. Dr. Hoffman was pulled into an emergency surgery, so he asked me to deliver the results.” Both of them relax at the name of the usual team doctor, and Aleksandra gestures for the doctor to continue.

“I’m pleased to say that we’re releasing you. The MRI came back completely normal, so ice the shoulder, try to keep the movement limited - I don’t suppose I could convince you to wear a sling anyway?” Aleksandra’s booming laugh in response makes the doctor smile and shake her head. “I-“ She glances over at Fareeha, and her words falter, her voice trailing off for a second as her eyes search Fareeha’s face. But then the doctor laughs slightly. “I’m going to guess you won’t try to convince her?”

Wondering if she’d just imagined the moment of hesitation, Fareeha lifts her hands in a shrug. “I don’t think anyone can convince Aleks to do something she doesn’t want to.”

The doctor smiles again, nodding as she looks back to Aleksandra. “You’re allowed to leave to whenever you’d like, and if you’d like Dr. Hoffman to give you a call, I can have him do that when he’s out.”

“It will be fine, Doctor,” Aleksandra reassures her, and Dr. Ziegler nods and leaves the room briskly, her lab coat swirling behind her as she disappears through the door.

Fareeha stands again - and then nearly pitches forward with the force of Aleksandra’s hand landing on her shoulder.

“I told you I was fine!”

“Yes, yes,” Fareeha sighs as she rises, “you’re as strong as the mountain, I know.”

They share a laugh as they leave the room, and though the slight ache in Fareeha’s knee is back, her soulmate is quiet about it.

—

Her soulmate is quieter for the next few weeks as well, less inclined to bother her during games but quick to respond to Fareeha’s soft check-ins, when she wants to make sure that silence hasn’t returned.

(Though the coffee burns in her mouth have also increased in frequency, and she wonders why her soulmate needs the extra caffeine.)

It’s a weekday night, when Fareeha is back on the court during halftime for a game, drinking water after warming back up and looking up into the stands. While the stands are half-empty (the trouble with games at these times), the people there have been enthusiastic all night long, decked out in the blue and silver of her team.

Except for one woman, whose bright blonde hair is the first thing to catch her eye, then the lighter blue turtleneck that she’s wearing.

It takes her a moment to recognize her as the doctor from Aleksandra’s trip to the hospital, and since the woman seems to be looking in her direction, Fareeha raises a hand to acknowledge her. Dr. Ziegler gives her a small wave in return; the brown-haired woman next to her in a Hawks t-shirt waves more enthusiastically.

Fareeha’s about to turn back to the court when an arm lands heavily around her shoulders, Aleksandra peering up into the stands next to her. “Who is here?” she asks, playfully shielding her eyes as she scans the crowd. “Oh, the doctor!” Aleksandra waves with a huge smile, holding her hand up over her head.

Elbowing her in the side, Fareeha grins at the small grunt she receives in return. But the smile is gone instantly as someone careens into her other side, jostling her against Aleksandra. Hana gives the stands a salute and holds up her hand in a v for victory sign as she leans further into Fareeha.

“Who are we waving to?”

“The pretty blonde about halfway up,” Aleksandra responds first as Fareeha shakes her head.

Hana smothers a giggle. “Good use of that full court vision, captain,” she says, searching the stands until she spots the doctor. “Of _course_ it’s a pretty woman,” Hana pretends to groan and wipes her hand over her face. “Useless lesbian.”

“Takes one to know one,” Fareeha shoots back, already smiling at the familiar banter.

And as usual Hana huffs and rolls her eyes at her. “That’s useless bi, thank you very much,” she complains, and manages to hold her frown for a moment before Aleksandra’s laughter triggers her own.

Their coach shouts over to them, and with a last glance up at the stands, Fareeha leads the others back to the bench to prepare for the second half.

The game is a close one, and she’s concentrating more on winning each rebound, about crisp passes and precise shots than on her surroundings. Doesn’t even think about the way her soulmate checks in after she takes an accidental elbow to the head, or the way she responds to her soulmate after accepting her opponent’s apology and outstretched hand.

She does notice the sharp sting across her back that follows seconds afterward, but she doesn’t have time to think about it before everyone’s lining up for her free throw, and then she refocuses until her world is nothing but the ball in her hands and the basket in front of her.

After the game, Fareeha stays on the court with a towel over her shoulders, congratulating her teammates and talking to reporters as most of the fans trickle out of the stands. But some remain behind, as always, coming down to the court side seats as they wait for the players. Part of the success of their league is based on the interaction that the players have with all the fans, so it’s a usual part of the team’s routine to linger after games to sign autographs and take pictures and just generally chat with people.

Fareeha’s gotten better at it over the years, with practice, and so she’s bidding good night to a mother shepherding out her children when she looks up and sees the doctor and the brown haired lady - a friend, maybe? - still seated in the middle of the stands, whispering frantically to each other.

Whether it’s the remaining adrenaline from a close, hard-fought victory, or those instincts to engage with every fan that even hints at wanting some interaction - Fareeha doesn’t stop to consider before bounding up into the stands herself, her loud footsteps making the pair straighten and watch her approach until she’s standing two rows down from them, face tilted slightly up, grinning at the surprise on their faces.

“Hello, Dr. Ziegler,” she says. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

The doctor bites her lip and glances at the woman next to her. “I actually…“

“I’m a huge fan,” the other woman cuts in suddenly. “I just dragged Angie out to try and get her to relax a little.”

“Lena.” Her name is a sigh from Doctor Ziegler - Angie, apparently - and her friend winces even as Fareeha perks up at the familiar sounding name.

“Lena?” she repeats, looking back toward the shorter woman. “As in, Emily’s Lena?” And she’s rewarded with a blush suddenly burning across Lena’s face, a goofy grin stretching her lips as she runs her hand through her hair.

“Yeah, that’s me.” She glances down to the court and Fareeha turns to follow her vision to where Emily - one of their main beat reporters - is currently chatting away with Hana, who has never shied away from giving the press a soundbite or two. “Talks about me, huh?”

Fareeha grins, pleased to see that Emily’s girlfriend reacts much the same way that Emily does when they talk about each other. “Yeah, a little bit,” Fareeha teases gently, and looks back to the doctor. “So you two are waiting for her then?”

The doctor nods as she sits back, her shoulders relaxing. “Yes,” she confirms. “I’m sorry if we bothered you.”

“No, not at all,” Fareeha says, then props a hand on her hip and grins. “I just wondered if you two were shy.”

“Well, she’s certainly not,” she says, then puts a hand out. “We never did really introduce ourselves. I’m Angela Ziegler.”

Fareeha clasps her hand with all the ease of a decade of meeting and greeting fans. Her hand is slightly dry, but warm. “Fareeha Amari,” she says in return. “So… not Angie?”

“Please not Angie,” she sighs again, and Lena at her side suddenly snaps back to attention, giggling a bit sheepishly.

“Sorry about that, love. But they’re, uh, wrapping up down there. Shall we?”

Angela rises fluidly as Lena jumps to her feet, and the three linger in place for a moment before Fareeha offers her hand to Lena as well.

“Nice to finally meet you,” she says, and Lena grasps her hand hard before Angela shoots her a look and Lena releases her with a small laugh.

“Next time I’ll get ya to sign something. For my cousin, of course.”

“Of course,” Fareeha agrees easily, and lets the other two climb down from the stands, watching them meet up with Emily, who greets Lena with a kiss on the cheek.

Smiling to herself at the display, Fareeha follows them out of the stands, before heading to the locker room.

—

Fareeha notices the pair at a few more home games after that, not at every one, but enough that she begins looking for them more consistently. They wait for Emily after each game, and Fareeha sits with them after she greets the rest of the fans. Sometimes they talk about the game, and Fareeha finds herself explaining a rule or a play call to Angela, who crosses her arms and looks pointedly at Lena when she mentions that sometimes _someone_ is too excited to explain things clearly.

Some nights they stray from the topic, though, like the evening Lena and Angela descend the bleachers to sit more court side after the game because they’d watched Fareeha limping around and wanted to save her climbing the steps. Or when Fareeha coaxes Angela into discussing what she does when she needs to relax and there isn’t a basketball game on.

(Read a book or go for a run seem to be the main answers until Lena pipes up that Angela sometimes watches medical dramas and gets upset at all the inaccuracies, and Angela turns red and mutters something about venting while Fareeha laughs.)

It’s the fourth time that the two show up that Fareeha notes them in the crowd, but can’t spare more than a glance. It _is_ a crowd tonight, with their biggest rivals in town. Her soulmate is being mercifully quiet despite the growing ache in her knee, and Fareeha is grateful for the unusual show of patience. The crowd is loud, cheering every basket and foul awarded, the tension in the air ramping up with every lead change. Fareeha checks in with a quick pinch to her elbow during a time out, smiling at the quick response she gets. At least it means that her soulmate is being patient, and not that the silence has somehow returned.

Returning to the game with a new confidence, not bracing for a sudden burst of pain, Fareeha drives to the basket and then zips a pass out to Aleksandra in the corner, who hits the three point shot like it’s nothing.

After that, it feels like they’re soaring. Hana keeps getting fouled, and she sinks each free throw with ice in her veins and a cocky grin that has the home crowd roaring. Even their rookie Orisa has a huge block that has her smiling widely as the team congregates around her to congratulate her.

They never have more than an eight point lead, but the outcome no longer feels in doubt.

The arena is still rocking even after their victory, and Fareeha is mostly through greeting the fans milling through the lower stands when the crowd thins out enough for her to get a better glimpse of Angela and Lena - and she nearly chokes when she recognizes the royal blue shirt that Angela is wearing, the silver hawk emblazoned across her chest.

Most of those shirts have a jersey number on the back, and she’s suddenly desperate to know what’s printed on Angela’s. But she’s finishing signing an autograph and chatting with a kid, and so she sees Hana bounding up the stands toward the pair before Fareeha gets a chance to go over.

_That’s_ worrying.

Bidding the family goodnight, Fareeha heads for the group, just in time to hear Hana’s excited, “You got it! I’m so glad!”

“Yes, thank you,” Angela is saying, “Lena gave it to me before we came over tonight.”

“As Em asked!” Lena grins, then waves to Fareeha. “What do you think, Fareeha?”

Fareeha hesitates as all eyes land on her, but Lena’s laughter and Hana’s smirk are quickly ignored in favor of Angela’s quiet amusement. “It’s a good color for you,” she says. It’s not just a random flirtation: the blue does bring out her eyes.

Hana flips her hair over her shoulder. “And it’s one of yours, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?” Fareeha demands, only to see Hana wink at her.

“My merchandise sales are still dominating yours,” she says with a lilt to her voice. “Figured you could use a little boost.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Fareeha can see Angela’s lips twitching into a smile, obviously enjoying the exchange. But Lena is watching them more worriedly as Fareeha puts her hands on her hips, playing along, and quickly turns to Angela.

“Show her, Angie, yeah?”

Though Angela sighs a little as she stands, she meets Fareeha’s eyes before she turns, and they’re momentarily united in their fond indulgence of heir more energetic friends. And then yes, it’s Fareeha’s 32 in bold font across Angela’s back.

It’s hardly the first time Fareeha’s seen someone wear her jersey number, but it looks really good on Angela.

“Thanks for the support,” she says as Angela resumes sitting, and the doctor leans back to look at her more fully, looking much more comfortable than that first evening at the arena.

“Figured it was about time.”

It feels like there’s a pause, a brief moment in which a small voice inside Fareeha goes _Oh_ , a little thrill of recognition and anticipation, and she finds herself standing a little straighter, shoulders back-

And an elbow lands in her side.

“Hey,” she objects, looking over at Hana as Angela sits forward again, concern written in the way her eyebrows snap together, and Lena is again watching them.

“Sorry, Captain, but you promised to buy us dinner if we won,” Hana says with a shrug. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Orisa.” She bounds down the bleachers before Fareeha can respond, so she simply throws her hands in the air as Hana beckons for her to join the rest of the team.

She turns back to Lena and Angela with a shrug. “I did promise them dinner,” she says apologetically.

Lena giggles a little. “And I’m sure it’s only Orisa she’s worried about.” 

Angela’s still sitting forward, her arms across her lap and her hands at her elbows. She looks… almost disappointed, but Fareeha doesn’t want to read into things that much. Maybe she was only imagining that the doctor was flirting with her before. “Well,” she says quietly with a wry little smile. “Next time then.”

“You know where to find me, “Fareeha promises. “And I won’t miss you.” She pauses, just for a second, enough to give the punchline a little more bite. “Given you’re apparently the only one wearing my shirt.”

That gets them both to laugh, and Fareeha leaves them with a wave, rejoining the team as they head toward the locker room with a fresh burst of enthusiasm, centered around a cheerful debate over where the team dinner should take place.

Threading her way through to Hana’s side, Fareeha slings an arm around her shoulders, letting some of her weight sag onto Hana. “So why the elbow?” she asks.

“Cause you gotta let the mystery linger a bit longer,” Hana says cheerfully. “I recognized that look on your face; you were about to tell some dumb joke or something and embarrass yourself in front of your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Fareeha objects automatically, ignoring the part about her jokes.

Hana slips from underneath Fareeha’s arm and somehow, after running all game, sprints a few steps ahead to slip into the locker room first, turning back with a smirk. “She was wearing the shirt, wasn’t she?”

—

She can’t forget Hana’s certainty during the next two weeks, thinks about it when at their next away game she glances up automatically into the stands at halftime.

Remembers Angela’s line about it being time at their next home game, when she spots Lena and Angela in their usual seats, with Angela wearing the Hawks shirt again. And she thinks that maybe Angela was right - maybe it’s past time to acknowledge the attraction she feels.

Fareeha resolutely puts the matter out of her mind in order to concentrate on the game, but she does find herself playing hard for reasons other than their current tough opponent. That she doesn’t just have the diminishing shot clock in mind when she muscles her way through the paint for a layup instead of settling back and resetting the play.

She plays hard. She plays well. And she tries not to look into the stands.

Doesn’t even look up after the game, when Fareeha goes to talk to the fans that wait as always, showing a girl how to spin a ball on one finger and high-fiving another before she finally lets herself climb the stands toward the pair that pause their conversation at her approach.

“Hey,” she greets them.

“Hey Fareeha!” Lena says, rocking forward. “You played out of your mind today!”

Fareeha shrugs a little. “Home court. You always want to walk out of here with a win.”

“Did you bribe your teammates with the promise of dinner again?” Angela teases, pretending to look behind Fareeha, toward the court as if Hana will once again come bursting onto the scene.

“No,” Fareeha says with a grin, because she couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “But I was wondering if you’re free.”

She’s aware of Lena’s little sound of surprised delight, sees out of the corner of her eye the way she slaps a hand over her mouth to prevent any further noise escaping. But Fareeha’s focused on the way Angela’s eyes widen in surprise for just a second, before she relaxes into a smile, her eyes bright behind the hair that falls across her face.

“Yes, I think I-”

A burst of upbeat music interrupts her, and Angela goes pink even as she scrambles for her pocket, pulling out her phone and immediately accepting the call, standing up hastily and walking a few rows up as she says, “Mei! How’s the-”

Not wanting to eavesdrop, Fareeha turns in amusement to Lena. “ABBA?”

“We, uh…” Lena glances between Fareeha and Angela. “We watched Mamma Mia the other night?”

“Ring Ring wasn’t in Mamma Mia though,” Fareeha says. “Good choice for a ringtone, though.”

She’s not sure why Lena is staring at her, and though she’s familiar with the slight look of horror thanks to Hana’s usual reactions to her music, she’s not sure what the other, almost gleeful look in her eyes is about.

“-Wait, did she say Mei?” Lena bursts out. “Oh no…”

Before Fareeha can ask, Angela returns to them, her phone hanging in her hand by her side, her expression going from excited to nervous as she shifts on her feet. “That was Mei - my colleague,” she explains. “I’d love to get dinner, I would, but we’ve been waiting for this data for ages and I really think we could-”

Her rambling only stops when Fareeha holds her hand out, palm up. “May I see your phone?”

Angela hesitates, then hands it over, watching as Fareeha punches in her own number, then calls and hangs up immediately.

“There,” she says, handing the phone back. “Now you have my number. Just call me when you’re done and we can go after.” She grins, trying not to show her disappointment, because Angela is clearly already anxious to get going and this must be very important to her. “Now we’re even anyway. Hana last time, Mei this time.” She looks over to Lena. “You don’t get a turn, though.”

“Cross my heart,” Lena says solemnly, and they share a laugh as Angela relaxes slightly, some of the tension draining from her shoulders and the lines around her eyes easing.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

She hurries down the stands and out the door, and Fareeha watches her go with a sigh.

“Well, love, Emily’s wrapping up too. I’m gonna meet up with her,” Lena says, bouncing down a few rows before pausing. “And don’t worry! Angie will call!”

—

Angela doesn’t call.

Fareeha doesn’t think about it that night, and she’s not worried throughout the next day despite it being her day off and having the full time to herself. They’re both adults with a lot of time commitments, and Angela’s phone call hadn’t seemed so simple. So it’s nice to get a chance to rest and recover after pushing herself so hard the night before, especially because her soulmate has a headache slowly pulsing at the back of her eyes.

But when Fareeha wakes up the next morning and the phantom pain has her body feeling stiff and achy, when her tongue feels permanently scalded, when she hobbles through team meetings and film sessions and Angela still doesn’t reach out at all, not even a simple text to give Fareeha her number, she’s starting to wonder if this is going to wait for their next home game anyway.

She decides to go for a short run to clear her mind and settle down her body, because feeling her own body move will help with the reflected pain from her soulmate, who responds to Fareeha’s check ins with some stretching (a good ache that reverberates through to Fareeha) before going right back to whatever else they’re doing.

Rather than stay at the arena, she drives to the nearby park, because the fresh air will help her head and the grass and earth have less impact on her knee than the gym floor.

Taking a deep breath, Fareeha concentrates on the way her chest expands, the smell of cut grass, and refocuses on the way her body feels, not what her soulmate is feeling. She stretches herself, slowly, before setting off at a light jog. It’s easy to let all of her thoughts go like this, to not worry about her form or whether she’s being fast enough or efficient enough to continue playing at a high level. Easy to forget the weight of the phone in her pocket in the motion of her muscles and the steady rhythm of her feet against the ground.

Easy to ignore the feelings bleeding over from her soulmate, at least until her knee starts to ache despite the lower impact. Because then a sharper pain blooms against her ribs, because her soulmate apparently has no patience today. Likely, Fareeha thinks, even as she stubbornly pushes on, her soulmate doesn’t want to deal with her knee on top of all the rest of the pain, but Fareeha’s unwilling to give up her own peace of mind so quickly.

When the jab happens again, Fareeha pinches her arm a little more sharply than usual, a check in that she’s okay but also hoping that her soulmate will leave her alone. After all, she’s been putting up with her soulmate for the past two days without chiding, and she’s made it down the length of the park and is far away from where she’s parked. She really doesn’t want to endure the return trip with her soulmate scolding her at every step.

Her soulmate, who does not understand her response and insists again that Fareeha stop.

Their exchange repeats again before Fareeha starts ignoring her soulmate entirely, even though she’s taking a more direct route back to her car than she usually would. Her soulmate is still talking, though when they realize that Fareeha has stopped responding, the jabs and the sharp fingernails peter off.

And then her phone rings.

Fareeha slows down and pulls her phone out, looking at the unknown number on display. She swallows hard, trying to calm down her breathing before accepting the call and putting the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Fareeha, please stop,” Angela says without greeting or preamble, her voice the only clue to her identity, even though the words are quickly spoken. “I’m so close to finishing this initial report on our findings and I need to be done before Mei leaves again because we can probably get it in before the deadline and you are making it very hard to concentrate.”

“Wait,” Fareeha says, holding a hand up despite Angela being unable to see it, trying to make sure she understands. “I’m distracting you?”

An impatient sigh is her only answer at first, and then nails scratch along her knee and Fareeha understands in an instant, even before Angela’s, “You’re running, right? And your knee hurts, so my knee hurts, and I’m almost done, so please, _please_ just take a break?”

The last few words are almost pleading, and Fareeha understands the low pounding ache of strained eyes, the crick in her neck and back after spending all day bent over a desk, and she lowers herself to the grass, flopping onto her back with the phone still pressed against her ear as she looks up at the sky.

“Thank you,” Angela sighs - this time in relief - before Fareeha can say anything, and hangs up.

Fareeha lets the phone come to rest on her chest and feels the sunshine on her face even as the stiffness in her shoulders resumes, and she laughs quietly, wishing Angela could feel this as well. She presses her fingernails gently into her arm, and smiles to feel the gesture returned.

Then she sits up and looks at her phone again before saving the number into her contacts.

_Angela Zielger (soulmate)_


End file.
